Clupp, the fellow addressed, bashful at finding himself the object of attention, swayed backward and forward with his pikestaff for a pivot, laughing vacantly. "No, sir," he gaped, stupidly. Master Halfman's lip wrinkled menacingly, and he reached his hand to his staff that lay upon the table. "Indeed!" he said. "Then I must ask Master Crabtree Cudgel to lesson you." He advanced threateningly towards the terrified fellow, but long before he could reach him Dame Satchell had interposed her generous bulk between officer and private, not, however, as was soon shown, from any desire to intercede for the culprit. "Leave him to me, sir," she entreated, vehemently. "If you love me, leave him to me." And, indeed, her angry eyes shone warranty that the offender would fare badly at her hands. Halfman waved her aside with a gesture of impatience. "Mistress Satchell," he protested, "you are a valiant woman, but a rampant amazon." Dame Satchell's cheeks glowed a deeper crimson, and her variable anger raged from Clupp to Halfman. "Call me no names," she squalled, "though you do call yourself captain, or I'll call you the son of a--" However Mistress Satchell intended to finish her objurgation it was not given to the company to learn, for Halfman tripped up her speech with a nimble interruption. "The son of a pike, so please you," he suggested, with a smile that softened the virago's heart. "There, we have toiled enough to-day and it tests our tempers. Dismiss." This command he addressed to the whole of his amazing company; to Dame Satchell he gave a congee with a more than Spanish flourish: "To your pots and pans, valorous." Dame Satchell, mollified by his compliment, shrugged her fat shoulders. "'Tis little enough I have to put in them," she grumbled. "Roast or boiled, boiled, fried, or larded, all's one, all's none. We'll be mumbling shoe-leather soon." She sighed heavily at the thought, and moved slowly towards the door at the end of the hall beneath the gallery. Halfman, unheeding her, had turned to the table and was intently poring over the large map that lay there together with a loaded pistol. Thoroughgood gave orders to the men. "Garlinge and Clupp, go scour the pikes. Tom Cropper, find something to keep you out of mischief. As for you, Gaffer Shard, you may rest awhile." The old man shook his frosty head vigorously. "Nay, nay," he piped, "I need no rest. My old bones are loyal and cannot tire in a good cause. God save the King." He gave a shrill cheer which was echoed loudly by men and boy, and so cheering they tramped out of the hall in the trail of Mother Satchell, Garlinge staggering under the load of pikes which the lad had officiously foisted on to his shoulder, Clupp laughing vacantly after his manner, and steadfast old Shard waving his red cap and chirping his shrill huzzas. VI HOW WILL ALL END?